


The Tale of Will the Reaper

by ameerkatofficial



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: (eventually) - Freeform, Anal Sex, Antisemitism, Eventual Smut, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-26 17:57:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 23
Words: 12,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7584277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ameerkatofficial/pseuds/ameerkatofficial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young William explores himself during his most intensive assignment yet through the written word of a personal diary</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Grell

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure how long this shit'll go. Let's see how long until I get sick of the subject... Here goes!

Diary,

I’ve met with the strangest fellow on this day. He is called Grell Sutcliff, yes Grell Sutcliff…why is that name so familiar to me? And the fellow even more so, for surely he is a face one cannot forget, and my unconscious mind strives to remind me of that. Perhaps I had met him in passing during one of these long few years…

But I digress. The man is incorrigible to the utmost degree. He is a flame primed to scorch the whole earth, burn all those nearest to him to ash, from his flaming red hair to his enflamed temper, and such scorching words that pass from his lips! Why, he’s spent a good twenty or so minutes berating me before the headmaster as I stood idly by after the lunatic assigned us together, yes, we will be working together now for the most important assignment of my mortal existence…

Lovely…

And still, that man has a higher average than I do…I can only wonder how! Perhaps he is one of those eccentric types, though he treats the entire affair to some rather uncomfortably sexual undertones…

Blast! How can I possibly work with this man? Has The Lord in Heaven conspired to make my entire existence miserable and unaccomplished?

But even then I’ve noticed something that I simply cannot ignore! And perhaps it is only The Lord who has given me temptation to test me further in this damned purgatory to allow me to enter His Kingdom. The man is effeminate…it is clear as day, despite his assertiveness he possesses the traits of a fairer sex, and I cannot help but find myself rather…aroused…

Is it this desperation again? This madness that has taken me since my dearest Katherine’s passing? Why must I, a faithful servant of The Lord, become so consumed by the ugliest sin of lust? Why must I succumb to the faith of sodomites? What is my duty then, Lord? Is it to simply ignore this aching in my heart that I’ve suddenly felt when that damned man cast his glance my way?

Perhaps I should report him for indecency…but on what grounds? I haven’t any proof…

I shall sleep for now instead of drive myself madder pondering. I shall sleep, and not think of him, not think of the damned Grell Sutcliff dragging me to Hell with his flaming tongue.

Oh Lord in Heaven, please tell me what to do…


	2. A Brawl in London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is pissed off a f lol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoever can catch the shout out in this chapter to my tumblr bae @starry-eyed-fools wins a cookie.

Diary,

We were assigned to London. Moving into the boarding house was surprisingly uneventful—perhaps quiet courtesy is how I can escape this fate alive? But this man seemed to be determined to keep a vow of silence against me as well as I am apparently "unworthy" of his attentions…

But eventfulness unfolded in the evening, for this man is truly an reckless fellow, and I do not know how I will work with him any longer! He wished to end our assignment then and there with a rash decision to end our man weeks ahead of time, and I cannot simply remain silent in the face of gross malpractice? But why of course would he take a suggestion to utilise our time wisely? Why indeed when he can nearly dismember me instead? Why indeed when he can throw me against a wall like some useless hound? 

And yet...there was a look to his face that brought on a shudder to my soul. Does he receive some sick gratification from such acts of violence? But I saw it plain in his smirk, that glint of emerald in his eye, even in the dimness of the evening. Have I been partnered with a madman?

Surely the archangels of Heaven above have collectively lost their minds!

Oh Lord, I thank you for your strength in preventing me from tearing this man apart. Even now, my hands are shaking and I am thinking such wicked thoughts as he sleeps in his bed beside me. And even more so I feel my heart pound in my chest…has my infatuation not ended? Damn it all! Am I some starry-eyed fool? Honestly…what has happened to my sanity? Am I slipping through the cracks at last?

Lord, I do not know how I will escape this assignment alive. Only that it does well to keep silent and on one’s toes around a man as erratic as Sutcliff. At least I had him agree to meet our man tomorrow. Perhaps after such a meeting, my judgement shall be more clear...

What quality of man can you be, Thomas Wallis?

Oh Lord in Heaven, help my damned soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Help this gay boy


	3. Thomas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He met Thomas and realized he is a smol buttercup who needs love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is he gey?

Diary,

Today, I met him. Today, I met the man who's life we shall decide on. Today, I am afraid.

I had simply seen him from a distance the night before, studied his life, Thomas Wallis, born March 5th, 1775. He is a novelist of a quiet disposition, seemingly uninteresting...I've seen in my own observations many novelists slain before--of hunger, of accidents, loneliness, even suicide. It should be a simple case. We were given a simple case...

And yet why, why do I feel so...

I don't know what it is, and perhaps I never will. Perhaps it is the queer fact that he seemed...enchanted. Yes, the poor fool was enchanted by the pair of us, harbingers of death! What a stupid boy he is, for after I explained to him, he took us for performers! Such stupidity surely doesn't need to exist upon this earth--

\--but then what is it then? Was it the enchantment that has me thinking back on myself? I had never seen a young man in his position seemingly have stars in his eyes. Honestly, he is ludicrous! And yet, he found us beautiful somehow, a pair of sick, sallow corpses...why?

Interesting how he found Grell the most stunning of the two of us, his spirit nearly leaving his body at the sight of that maniac. Perhaps I am not mad, then, and perhaps it is simply Grell who has come upon existence as the embodiment of male lust?

Or perhaps we are both mad...

Well, at least he certainly enjoyed the attention most of all. At least one of us has had a good day.

Lord rest our mad souls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yep, still gey.


	4. A Day in the Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stalking?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long wait! But shit had to get done...

Diary,

We continue to track his path so firmly that I feel as if this were on the brink of obsession. Is it a total immersion of the mind into our subject necessary for such a task?

Is this why we, the maddest souls on the planet, had been chosen for such a task?

Regardless, Mr. Wallis is a man of few needs and simple habits. He goes to work in the morning and goes to the local pub for a meal and drink afterwards. He also had received his paycheck the day before and sent part of the sum off to, presumably, his family. Any other time not spent in this way is spent writing, writing, feverishly writing...

Then again, as I sit here and pen, I must seem quite the same to poor old Sutcliff, who stares irritably at my candle, whining and pining for me to flick it off.

But even as he sits and stews and stares with that cat-like glow of his green eyes, I pay him no mind, and have hardly paid him any mind for the entirety of the day, or else I surely would have eliminated him from existence. For he only seems concerned for the fact that our subject is a virgin, and this fact amuses him greatly.

Alas, this fact seems to weight very lightly on Mr. Wallis's head, for routinely he had been stopped and spoken to by young women, and routinely he'd greet them with a smile, a bit of meaningless chatter, before he'd insist that he should be on his way, and how he'd run off, like a child suddenly let loose into the spring grass! And how horrendously confused the women would be as they stared after this strange young man, but it only seemed routine, how it was supposed to be in the grand design of The Lord--

\--and according to my papers, it seems to be his original plan to the end, unless I deem it fit to intercept...

Oh, but it's almost comedic, really, how the boy is so destined to leave this world untainted, and yet how determined London is of doing so, as well as Grell, of course...

Now I watch as that poor red devil rolls off to sleep, and as I watch, I ponder the last question he had asked me. "Are you a virgin?" he had inquired just a few moments ago, to which I responded truthfully, simply, "no".

"A pity," he had replied and asked then, "Who had you, then?"

Then is when I threatened to throw melted wax onto his face if he didn't drop the subject.

A pity? What is meant by a pity? A pity I hadn't made good on my threat is what the true pity here is... what pity that I had died impure? As if that questionable lad had passed any purer than I...

A pity...

I pity his soul. Lord pity mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have learned today that Grell has a virginity taking kink and Will is, unfortunately for Grell, not a virgin. Also Tommy-Tom is a ladykiller, dayum~


	5. Observations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stalking and Grell gets pushed off a ledge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel bad for leaving you guys hanging for so long but I've been feeling really emo lately.

Diary,

I pen today as I sit by the man's window whilst Sutcliff sits just before me, glaring with that venomously green glimmer. He sits before me and asks why, why, why haven't we ended this poor "virgin's" life--his words, not mine...

Alas, is it not prudent to use every resource available to one? And does not a dead man know the value of the resource of time more than anyone? And so we observe, observe every action this man takes to find some reason, if any reason, to not take his life here and now--for the weight of a human life is surely heavy, is it not?

My partner disagrees.

At this moment our man stares at a page with a paragraph written upon it...

_~~Oh how I long for Tommy's big, succulent cock jammed into my exquisite arse!~~ _

It is honestly an inspiring sight to watch a man fall off a window ledge, for every moment he falls, a hope rises in me that he may simply fly, like a bird...

Unfortunately, this was not the case for Mr. Sutcliff.

As for Mr. Wallis, he has just set aside his quill pen and taken up his overcoat. I believe he is going to have an outing for once. Perhaps I shall pursue.

Lord guide my damned soul in what to do.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am wondering if I should write 30 chapters for each day of their month stalking Tommy or skip around a bit. Comment what you think...


	6. Bleeding Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> doctor willy billy MD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: blood and drinking and bar fights

Diary,

I pen tonight breathlessly, for I feel as if my lungs have caught flame. Beside me lays a bleeding red Sutcliff, but how I hope his wounds will mend by morn. I can only rely on my past life's skill set and pray, for what could come after the death of the undead?

Damn those delinquents!

And how the pub was rife with them, the foolish ex-humans who still felt it fine to have a drink and be merry among the living. These fools who felt it fine to strike at one another with their scythes, oh the shame! 

Surely they deserve no reprieve from this maddening purgatory.

But now I fear that my dear partner will end his quite soon...and Heaven can only know what lie beyond this. 

I look upon him now, the man who lay in a pained daze, staring up at the ceiling, huffing and puffing from pain. I had cleaned and dressed and stitched his wounds as quickly as I could manage after bringing him here, bringing him back to life in only guesses and tricks up my sleeve. And yes, I am angry, frightfully so, but as I look upon poor old Sutcliff, I still cannot manage to pin the fault to himself. A provocative man--he surely is--but to provoke such an attack? Damn those drunkards, and all men who use liquor to excuse their violent tendencies.

But what irony that such a violent man be their victim, but I have yet to find the time for mirth, for I watch the sun rise with him now through our bleak boarding room window, and it is only now that I hear his breath begin to regulate, his complexion regain, though I can read in his face that the stitching's aftermath is beginning to take effect, as his lips press with pain.

At least I now have sunlight to change his bandages by. I hope he will soon be well.

Lord do not take his soul from me just yet, for we still have work to do...

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> imagine those yaoi ass hands providing you with medical aid~


	7. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some fluffy shit tbh man I'm so tired

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been gone for so long. Kinda going through some crises at the moment in real life. But I would hate to leave this story on a cliff's edge like this. I miss writing, I miss it so much...

Diary, 

He is well for now, at least physically...

He seems to be tender now, but his skin is now pure and white and smooth, no longer bruised or cut red and raw. But still Sutcliff sat in affrighted silence as I removed the bandages from his body, facing away from me all the while as mewled and chewed pensively on his thumb nail.

I never realised how emaciated the boy was until I saw him bare by the light of dawn. He is of a lithe physique already, one could dare call him an androgyne. His shoulders are slender and lightly framed, and the rest of his body follows suit like this, a wisp, perhaps even skeletal, until one comes to his wide and fertile hips. But his spine haunts me--how it jut out from him like thorns upon a rose, threatening to prick my fingers as I washed his wounds. Perhaps he would have even liked to have pricked me so...

And yet, how wounded the man seemed to be when he finally turned around and held my gaze. Like a frightened animal he was, his lips pulled back in a snarl even as his entire little body seemed to collapse in on itself with how he hunched forward on his bed. But humanity did return to his form when he donned his clothing, and he whispered then into the early morning glow a soft--  _"Danke"_

_Danke..._

It seems that vulgar beast knew manners, at least where his life was concerned. But it was much appreciated, nonetheless.

So I let him alone in the eve', observations still necessary, but I wouldn't exert the man. And he did not complain.

I write as I sit upon Wallis' windowsill again...

Lord rest my soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> friendship?


	8. Caught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure you can guess by the title my dudes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double chapter night cuz fuck it, I owe you

Diary,

I had been caught tonight by the damned observant boy. He caught me there, sitting perched like an animal upon the windowsill. Perhaps I am an animal, now that I pen the thought down...stalking his pray...

He let me in, strangely enough, offered his hand to allow me to pass through without harm, allowed me to stand in his chambers as he inquired calmly as to what I was doing there--though perhaps not too calmly, for he was wide-eyed and surely spooked, but he was quiet even in his fear...clearly and softly spoken...

And I told him. I told him all.

He was at first purely shocked, frightened, confused, as his little hand grasped white-knuckled at his bed frame and he slumped upon it, wide blue eyes upon the ground, considering, considering what, I wonder? What exactly Death was meant to be, perhaps?

But after several moments, the strangest question had been asked to me--something unexpected, unlike any case I've ever heard.

_"Why did you end your own life?"_

It was sudden, blunt, and still he did not dare take the question back as he kept my gaze on lock. It was absurd, the whole of this moment, and I had a thought then to perhaps strike the boy-- _why did I end my life?_ What sort of question was that?

Such a simply phrased question...but how could I possibly find an answer?

I told him it was because I was at war, which was at least fractionally correct, I suppose. And he seemed to want to ask for further explanation even then, but he offered me a cup of tea instead.

And then there were no more questions about myself, or at least none referring to my status as a non-human. No, there were stories over a pot of tea between us, as he spoke of his younger brother, his sister, how they would all spend the day in the snow this time of year. He spoke of how their cheeks turned redder than summer strawberries, of how his sister was now a "thumb's length" taller than her brother, and how she would hardly let him forget it. 

What an absurd man this was! Even now I cannot comprehend the entirety of the night spent! And still he kept me there...kept me up the whole of the night...with _stories._ Stories of his mother's bread, of how he had seen ships sail off to sea once and wished he were on one of them. Simply stories...

Lord bless this good soul, for he had retained the childhood that had so soon left mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> story tiiiiiime!!!


	9. Consolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> emotions happen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pretty shittily written sorry bebs, but I wanted to move shit along

Diary,

By the morning light, Sutcliff was healed in all but spirit, for now I notice a sudden wariness about me from him. Even with his clothes donned, he retains a certain animalistic predatory characteristic in this vivid green gaze, as if I had perchance tread upon his territory, and now he must intimidate me off of it. But at least he speaks with much less frequency less now, and complains even less than that.

I've often wondered if Sutcliff was truly an animal who had by mistake been placed into a man's body. I've wondered at length what that animal could be--something carnivorous, I'm sure, but something quick, sly, clever and devious as any criminal. I'd think a fox then, a sly red fox, as the boy already has the features for it.

We watched in silence, the young author, for several hours, as he wrote, he slept, he wrote again, and he left at dinnertime to the little pub once again, though all the while Sutcliff had not made one remark of this "pathetic boy's" existence, and I was beginning to grow concerned...

But as a bit of brandy came the red-headed boy's way, he turned to me with the oddest expression, a sort of grimace mingled with a smirk, as he came forward so sudden that I thought he meant to split my forehead in two.

_"Think I'm weak for a bloody moment, and I'll tear your soul's record in two."_

I believe those are the words, for the moment was so frightfully sudden, the air had changed so violently, that I can hardly recall the moment exactly as it occurred, only my stunned silence and my beating heart, as my eyes widened and crossed at this devil upon my nose.

But he pulled away, his gaze still upon mine as he took a swig with such great deliberateness that I thought he meant to tear it out of me then, but I maintained his eye, did not dare back away, and nearly threatened to break his jaw a second time--

\--but then I caught Wallis's gaze in the distance instead...

I was suddenly brought back by a sharp pain in my arm, Sutcliff had twisted it over the counter then, a snarl upon his lip, until I pushed him back, my nails gripping into his as I laid a few pounds upon the counter and dragged him away...

I never knew how loudly my voice could echo--nor did I know of his, but we found ourselves shrieking at each other in the street about things, nonsensical things, when the damned man suddenly hunched down onto the street and-- _began to weep?_

Quite frankly, I never knew the man could weep.

It took me a few moments to fully acknowledge the man on the ground, the silent whimpers and shuddered gasps into his own knees, and a few more moments to even think of what to do--for would he slash me to ribbons the instant I made a remark?

I sat down before him for some minutes then, watching his shuddering form, how his shock of red hair shook between his crossed arms. But eventually we had to leave, even if he wasn't ready to, so I gripped his arm then, draped it over my shoulder, as we silently continued on to the boarding house.

Lord rest his soul, for I believe he has been broken enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh imma post some porn real soon cuz even I'm getting impatient by my slow burn bullshit so I can't even imagine what it's like for you guysssss  
> alas, final exams are soon, wish me luck~~~


	10. Voyeur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will gets racist and pays for it, but is it justified?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: some period-appropriate anti-semitism, does not in any way reflect my feelings towards the Jewish community
> 
> TW: assault/non-con/essentially attempted hate-rape

Diary,

I wake before my partner today, as usual, feeling somewhat refreshed from the night before.

Grell spoke to me again at last the night before as we prepared for bed, though the wariness is still there. And still, it was of nonsense, a complaint about our rubbish lot here, of our target, but there was at least a smile or two from him, though typically when a crude remark is made. At least civility is present between us for now, even if there is frost around the edges of it. 

But I cannot help but gain the feeling that he is far more interested in me than he would ever say. I feel his eyes, prodding, pricking at me like pins, as I dress, as I shave, as I walk beside him in silence through the brisk morning--I feel that green glimmer pierce through my clothing, my skin, always curious, roaming, perhaps even ravenous...

Then again, the same could be said of I, as I observe and attempt to understand this strange and psychotic man. He believes I know nothing of him, but I know surely that his first language is not English, and is most likely German. He has a physical tendency for his left, though he seems to be proficient in using both hands for all tasks. He is sensitive to cold weather, and is already showing signs of a slight cold and a congested nose. Additionally, his physiology and his voice seem to be consistent with that of a eunuch. 

\--

Diary,

I now I feel a deep shame burn like acid in me, a deep rage that I cannot comprehend--but it is my fault isn't it? My fault for wishing to spy on a man's privacy, to be a lewd voyeur, but the consequence was only so typical of this damned, damned psychotic man...

I sat and watched him dress this morning, feigning a prolonged occupation with my own stockings, and what shame I felt to be committing such an act of voyeurism...even now I cannot tell if my gaze was intentional or simply an effect of my previously stated eccentric ailment. Perhaps it was curiosity still, to understand this man, this strange man, to the deepest level of my ability.

He dresses quickly when he thinks no one is watching, but haphazardly, as if locked in an eternal state of panic, leaving buttons half undone before he goes to sit down to tear off his stockings as the other hand continues unbuttoning. He undresses as if his life depended on his speed, and dresses quite the same, with the same panic and efficient chaos. And still there was a softness to his movements, even when sudden and sharp, and perhaps it was in the structure of his hands, the delicate construction of them.

But then the damned fool turned around, so suddenly then that I hadn't the time to avert my gaze, and I found out two more traits about him then--

Grell Sutcliff is a eunuch and a Jew.

At first I found myself staring in disbelief--and yet my mind somehow began to make sense of it...this savage man was surely a _Jew_ , and could be nothing else. But could his immorality be simply this? I found myself disappointed then at the sight of his mutilated manhood, of the impotent, eccentric nonbeliever, and wished somehow that he wasn't a Jew at all, wished that somehow he could have proven my father wrong that such people were feral mongrels, dregs of society. Instead I felt my heart burn further for this man's demise, felt my hatred rise and enflame--

\--until I caught the sight of his eyes...those deep-set eyes, suddenly darkening, receding further into himself as his lower lip trembled, for he knew what I knew, he saw what I saw, and I saw a flicker of fear for a moment, if only a moment, in those psychotic eyes.

But his lips closed, and there was a roll of his throat, before he stood before me, defiantly unabashed despite the faint flush of his face, as he now slowly pulled his trousers down the rest of the way with a gentle roll of his hips and a wicked smile, when he suddenly advanced upon me, his speed gaining, gaining until he was upon me, until he shoved me down onto my bed.

He was _feral_ upon me, snarling as he shrieked at me to touch him as much as my eyes seemed to, to touch him so lewdly that I cannot even pen what was said, as he ground upon my leg, fingers flying as they unbuttoned my shirt! After the onset horror passed, I managed to fight him off, tossing him onto the floor before I could regain my breath at last, and sat in a huddled mass at the farthest corner from him, as I let him lay there, let him sob as my heart pounded, my eyes filled with most shameful, searing tears as I held in my sobs then, as my breath heaved dryly, and I muffled all this into my sleeve if only to keep hush and _away_ from this man!

But he didn't bother to silence himself as he wept upon the ground, didn't bother to conceal his moans of agony, that even I soon found myself crawling over to observe, if this was real, if _he_ was real, and truly wailing in a mass upon the wooden floor.

He lay like this until half past the hour, before he picked himself up without a glance at me, dressed himself, and walked out the door.

And I followed.

Lord salvage my tarnished soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah there's a time skip but it's all within one day and it's related so that's why it's one chapter.  
> Also, again, apologies. If you don't know enough about me already, I tend to hit pretty heavy topics, but I try to with some amount of respect simply to expose how messed up this world can be.


	11. The Jewish Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HOOO BOY this is racially charged. Not as triggering as last chapter, but it's coming off from that perspective and is racist as fuck nonetheless, so be warned. Will is just contemplating, as always...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah! I'm leaving for Israel for two weeks and won't be able to write as I won't have a laptop...

Diary,

I feel ill at ease.

Ever since yesterday's events, the two of us are hardly able to stand each other. We are only bound by duty and for a grade's sake--there's a cruel sort of humor to how that can work upon us still...

I should report him. I should demand a new partner in this assignment, not a _Jew_ , and a madman at that! But it is too late, isn't it? Surely they'd end up delaying my assignment to the next year.

It is not as if there were any _need_ for an assured timely graduation, what with our post-mortem status.

Quite honestly, I do not know how to feel about any of this--about _him._ His reactions are horrifically extreme, that I do not feel safe around this man any longer. But what chance of escape do I have now?

Is this my test then, to pass through purgatory? And is this red-headed man my trial?

And a _Jew_ , nonetheless...

Alas, it seems that I'll have to carry on. At least he's been quiet during our observations.

But for the life of me, I cannot seem to take my mind off of this man, as I sit and wonder at him. He hardly looks like one...his features are thin and fine, his pallor seems almost as pure as a doll's, save for that faint golden tinge he takes on. Of course his flaming locks are not unlike that of Shylock's, nor is his temper...

And still, I cannot quite think of him as a Jew. Perhaps it is because I've never met one before.

Nor have I met a eunuch, though that explains his androgyne physique. But now I grow curiouser and curiouser of this man, my frightful partner, even morbidly so. But I must be careful and keep pure in my investigations of this man, lest my heart grows as dark as his.

At least I have to look forward to another private meeting with Mr. Wallis, a much more sensible man to talk to.

O Lord, give me the courage to prevail through this purgatory...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, the more I've been analyzing antisemitism in history, the more I've found more evidence for Grell being a Jew. His fiery temper, want for revenge/blood, and even his flaming red hair, are all in common with one of literatures most famous Jewish persons--Shylock. It could easily be coincidence, red being a color symbolic for violence, bloodlust, and pugnaciousness, but I've been reading a bunch of articles on Jewish stereotypes and antisemitism and found some stuff on historical stereotypes for red heads and Jews, as well as red-headed Jews in literature (who are often not put in a positive light). Additionally, many Londoners were at the time convinced that Jack the Ripper was Jewish as they felt "only a Jew could commit such a crime", their words not mine...  
> Ah well, my headcanons tbh.  
> But Yana does have flair for adding in historical refs to her work, why not period-typical racism as well? There's already shit on the Italians, the Indians, and the Germans, after all.


	12. The Question Continues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will keeps questioning his racism. Grell falls out a window--again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a double hitter now! cuz I'm gonna be gone so long and I feel bad about leaving in such an anti-Semitic notes

Diary,

I appeared at his window the night before once again, found him asleep at his desk, though he promptly woke up, and he smiled at me. It feels strange to feel wanted by a man you're due to kill, especially when he knows that you're meant to kill him. But I enjoy his company, and he enjoys mine all the same. We sat and chatted through the night for a while over a pot of tea, the thick scent of the brew adding flavor to the soft winter chill. 

But I dared to ask him a simple question, posing it as mere curiosity, a fleeting fancy for knowledge about this man. I asked him if he's ever met a Jew...

He had once. She was a nice girl named Annemarie, who always smelled of fresh bread. But she moved to London six years ago, and he hadn't heard from her since. But it was apparently most pitiable that she took her cat with her.

I cannot help but wonder about Annemarie--what she would have looked like, would have been like, and if she indeed did smell of fresh bread.

But when I sat and pondered this at his residence, he tapped my hand for attention, from which I flinched away as he asked if I was feeling alright...

I told him I felt fine. He knew I was lying.

But he asked no further, and he had the oddest habit of fidgeting with his fingers, picking at the white calluses, those limpid blue eyes gazing down at them, looking rather like a melancholic marionette with how his hair fell down the sides of his face, the pale blond waves only making his eyes appear larger with their combined hue, and his thin, pointed chin. 

What a beautiful corpse this man would be.

I still cannot help but think that even now, of how lovely a cadaver this man would make. Is it morbid to think, even mad? But what harm is there in being mad in my state anyhow? After all, am I not a corpse as well?

I wish to tell him this. I feel compelled, but I do not believe the remark would be taken as a compliment, so I write it here instead out of some hope that he would know anyhow.

We spoke little after this. I asked if he fancied Annemarie, and he replied that he did not. 

I asked if he fancied anyone. He replied yes.

He did not speak further.

We fiddled with teacups instead, likely holding in our drink our missing words, but they rose over our heads like the steam from the pot, and we seemed to understand that now was not the time to talk. But I was somehow content with this, as was he, and we found ourselves gazing out the window instead in contented silence.

But I had to leave him, and we said our goodbyes in the hush of twilight, our voices but soft breezes that passed by.

And then I was there again at the house with bloody Sutcliff all the same, but our silence was not contented.

It was evening again, pouring into night, when the boy laid his head down upon his desk, the window opened just a hair for air. But what Sutcliff did then at this observation was not expected--

\--he jumped inside.

At my appalled gasp, he did turn his head a moment, and perhaps I saw a smirk there, and perhaps I imagined it, but he continued inside, and I found myself following this boy once again.

The damned hooligan was so careless now when he scolded my free behavior before, in a perfectly sociable climate, rather than after breaking into a person's own home! But despite my hushed protests, the bloody man sauntered in and sat himself at the edge of the other's desk, swiping up a stack of pages adjacent to him before he began to read.

I sat upon the bed in protest, away from this stupid man. But he did not pay me any mind, perhaps forgot I was there, as he silently smiled and read on. But strangely he looked up and smiled at me, a knowing grin somehow, and I felt my heart stop for a moment as those eyes beckoned me closer. I found myself following once more, closer to this man and that soft, knowing grin upon his elegant face, as he handed me the first page, and whispered that I should at least read the title.

And it read:

_The Tale of Will the Reaper_

As I stood in open-mouthed disbelief, I heard the husky, soft tousling of air, of laughter from the other man, failing to be concealed and trying desperately to be quiet. But he only grew louder as I glared up at him, though even now my own lip was beginning to twitch at the sight of him, the soft creases beside his eyes, beside his lips, the gentle brightening of his eyes--

\--then I heard a murmur beside us, saw a shift of golden hair upon the brown desk.

In a quick movement, I tackled the cackling bastard out of the window, my tumble following after.

And now I pen as he moans over his ruined nose, and I wrap cloth around my mending ankle.

O Lord, mend our broken bodies instead.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol they fall and will is gay as fuck


	13. Little Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another thing like "Voyeur" but less angsty, kinda them just pretending that they're not watching each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I can use AO3 on mobile???  
> I have found wifi in Israel!

Diary,

In the morning we woke again, side by side, and we dressed and perhaps watched each other all the same...

He was aware that I was watching out of the corner of my eye, that I am sure, for his movements seemed much slower, more elegant, well paced, almost like a dance instead of a dressing down and up again. But even then I cannot seem help myself, cannot bring my gaze away from that gentle golden tinge, be fascinated by the rolling curves of his waist down to his hips and traveling further past his thighs...

_Oh, can I not think of less vulgar things?_

He already knows I am watching him, after all...yet why do I persist? If only to answer my already answered question-- _could he be a Jew?_

But the prurient boy is not innocent either, for I feel his eyes curiously moving down my back, but we continue to lie to the other with a soft flit of our gazes once they meet. It seems we're caught in this private dance of lies then for now, bared in the sound of our shared heartbeats, in the soft curve of his rose lips and the gentle swing of his wide hips, and the roll of my shoulders and my tired sighs. It is like this that we stew in private imaginings, though we each know the other would not dare act them out--

Yet somehow it is almost freeing to know that we each have been found out...

O Lord, unhinge my repressed soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted some perv shit to break up the angst for a bit.


	14. Red Romantics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things happen to Will and he is suddenly a damsel in distress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh it's not my best, just trying to move things along

Diary,  
Last night was surely an eventful one, and I am not sure if I can give justice to the puzzling jumble that it all was.  
Sutcliff continues to be the queerest creature I have ever met.  
I was walking back from Thomas's home just before one, when the streets are misted with that soft aroma of mystery locked in shadow that gives rise to both romance and paranoia. And still I was pulled by the former as I still had the taste of tea and biscuits upon my tongue, and the sight of those melancholic powder blue eyes in my mind.  
Apparently though, the undertone of paranoia thrumming in my heart was called for, for I was suddenly kicked down from behind by a force so sudden I had thought it to be lightning, a force so inhuman that it surely must have been, but when I rolled quickly onto my back, it seemed no one was there, not until I stood and saw a flash of scarlet beneath the dim street lamps, heard a groan and a thud to the ground. On my right came another presence, who in this sudden rush I knocked out with one firm blow, but another came around and took me by the neck, seeming keen on cutting off my air, as his other hand reached into my jacket pocket, but I managed to free myself with a swift kick to the man's gonads when that flash of scarlet returned with a huff of _"You idiot."_  
Romance and paranoia are found in the English heart at this late, late hour of shadows, but it seemed that I lacked in the latter tonight.  
The fox-faced fellow walked beside me after that, breathing hard and sullen as he jammed his hands into his pockets, his back hunched and his shoulders high and jagged like some prowling animal's, shoulders that I knew to be much smaller, and still much sharper, beneath that jacket.  
I told Sutcliff thank you, and he replied with a grisly " _don't_ ", before reminding me that if I were harmed, his grade may suffer.  
We walked in silence like this for some time, as he quietly steamed, and I watched the embers glow. But with him walking beside me so menacingly, I felt the paranoia wither away, romance blossoming further instead beneath the cold moon. I looked to Sutcliff beside me, and for a moment he appeared to be a young girl in the shadow. Perhaps he could have easily passed for one if he wished, with that thin and gentle face, his rosy lips and cheeks, his thick lashes and almond eyes. But his expression was too hard for a woman's, too cutting, and surely would have been unbecoming on one. But the scant masculinity he did possess allowed this expression it's proper frame, and the angry effeminate fellow was no less attractive for it.  
Yes, I admit at last that he is attractive, even for a _Jew_.  
But as I was looking at him, and as he was looking curiously my way as well, I suddenly felt a piercing pain in my heart, starting from the back, blooming to the whole of my chest, until numbness spread after, and I instantly fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol it's incomplete because SUSPENSE


	15. Butcher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conclusion to last night's cliffhanger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha hope you enjoyed yesterday's!

I awoke with morning light streaming through half-closed shutters, and his tired face hovering over me, as he haggardly sat me up with his surprisingly strong hands, unwrapping the bandages around my chest, as he gave a soft gasp of pain--for the damned man had _butchered_ me!  
But he hissed at my accusations, seeming far too exhausted now to approve or disapprove them, stating that a bullet had pierced my heart, but not so far that the damage could not be healed by my body if I had it removed. So he cut it out, sewed me back up crudely with a needle and thread, and had been changing my flooding bandages every so often as I apparently faded in and out of some level of consciousness.  
He spoke of this as he wrapped my chest and back once again with spare cloth I had gathered from the boarding room's landlord from his past injury, muttering that he did just _fine_ without the help of the useless " _doctor_ " that I was. But I could not help but wonder where he had gained this much knowhow of human anatomy, and I did ask this, but he replied that I'd rather not know...  
My imagination shudders with me.  
But at least I seemed to be somewhat healed properly, and so he carefully laid me back down as we exchanged hushed swears, before he went to lay down on his own bed, and insisted that if I wake before he did, he would then _truly_ kill me.  
_O Lord, why must you tease me with the sickeningly sweet taste of death again?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you didn't catch it, Will was shot, most likely by a friend of whoever tried to mug him. Or maybe he was shot by FEELS as some of you seem to insinuate...


	16. Accusations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grell knows more about Will than Will does, and demonstrates his sense of responsibility

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short lil thingy to end Will's injury arc tbh

Diary,

I had left Sutcliff the responsibility of observations whilst I heal, but I had little faith that he'd actually do so...

But that man continues to surprise me every day. He actually _did_ it. 

He threw his own ledger upon my lap in the evening, waking me up from my slumber, and though there are rather rude comments and highly detailed but also lewd sketches in the margins, the notes are legitimate, and I am somewhat proud...

I had almost remarked on the fact when an odd comment was made--

\--he had remarked on my late night calls to the young author's house...

Even now I do not know why I find myself agitated at the subject, for they were simply calls and nothing more, a chat over a cup of tea. But the insinuations he makes of us drive me nearly mad...

But then so does almost everything this man does. 

I had attempted to turn the conversation to him instead, accusing him of stalking me in the middle of the night--but he even admitted to doing so out of sheer boredom, admitting then that he would lose interest early and go out for a drink! Now how can I shame a man so shameless? But what more could I expect from his kind...?

Unfortunately I made the mistake of making this sentiment known, and now have an injury upon the side of my head from this damned choleric man's fist.

Perhaps it would be best to remain silent on this subject until the end of our assignment.

_O Lord, kindly send Sutcliff to Hell where he belongs._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about these sucky chapters. I wanna get things moving but since I'm abroad and writing on mobile I'm a bit all over the place mentally and physically.


	17. Accustomed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will confronts his own racism as well as his feelings about Grell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ya go, hoes! (I say lovingly)

Diary,

I have healed quite decently, though I am still sore, and I am quite sure that this scar will take much longer to heal, even with this body I have been granted.

The two of us decided to eat breakfast together today since I am capable of leaving my bed now. It was mainly quiet, though I didn't mind, and of course I was not ignorant of why. But it still felt odd...

We tolerate each other now, and even I hold a measure of fear for him after these past days' events. But I cannot help but be grateful, and still fearful, and these feelings conflict in my heart.

I admitted to him softly then that I had never met a Jew before, and he replied with a snort and an impaling of his porridge.

So silently we ate, swallowing our words along with our drink, as I looked at him, and he looked at me as well--well, at least he hadn't lost eye contact...

But he hardly spoke a word to me afterwards, which was fine. I hated his complaining, but it left the air rather silent in early morning London

Until it began to rain, when he whined of his hair curling in this damp weather, and I admit only here that I missed that husky, lilting drawl, as if I had somehow become accustomed to the sound of screeching wheels or scratching glass.

But I obliged to waiting for the rain to end in a little pub, where we shared a bottle of brandy in contented silence.

When the rain passed, we came to Thomas's home again, and it seems that Sutcliff has abandoned all law and decency in how freely he swung into the open window when the other fell asleep, if only to read, curiously, with a cocked head and swinging legs as he sat at the edge of the desk, as satisfied as a cat curled up besides a blazing flame. It was curiosity of this satisfied grin that led me inside and beside him, to swipe up the discarded pages from Sutcliff and scan over them.

But surprisingly, it was rather well written...

I wish I could have taken a few pages to copy down here, or at least keep to myself for it was fine writing, but I had to keep Sutcliff from stealing a page or two, so how would it look if I did just that? But his prose is so descriptive, so active that it feels as if one is in the story one's self, a part of it perhaps. And still it is kept moving in what seems to be a rather poignant yet simple tale of a man named William and a young, beautiful damsel, though I feel a creeping tragedy coming through like the winter wind that comes fast through the shutters tonight.

O Lord, let us find warmth with his horrific draft.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not great at writing racism from a protagonist. I've felt racism from others many times, but I've never seen it improve over time in real life, and believe that people getting over their racism is just a myth of television. Ah well, let us write a wonderful myth then, this entire thing is by the seat of my pants anyhow!


	18. The Entertainer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is a good Christian boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I do not stand by any beliefs in this passage as I am a gay, non Christian, budding actor

Diary,

The days are beginning to grow bitter and cold, but at least Sutcliff and I have begun to speak again. I only admit here in privacy that I missed his senseless chatter. Although I do not at all enjoy such crude back-biting and such open salaciousness for other men, I cannot help but enjoy the strange lilt his voice has. It is trilling, melodious despite its husk, and he is surely a singer then--perhaps even an operatic castrato, given his eunuch status and theatrical nature.  
I believe he has infected me somehow over these past days, but then perhaps it is his personality. He is the type to draw in others for a " _show_ " if one may call it that, a show of his pathetic life perhaps, but he pantomimes it brilliantly, and I cannot help but admit that I am captivated by it. He is eloquent in his gaudiness, poignant in his perversions, and there are few people who can change his or her face so entirely by a light smirk or a lift of an eyebrow, and he seems to know of this strange talent of his and utilizes each expression with the kind of easy grace and beauty that only The Lord can possibly bestow.   
Perhaps then I may have to forgive his ungodly ways. Showmen are often like this, fascinating and sinful. They live outside of the realm of The Lord to provide society its necessary dosage of devilish jubilee, allowing other men to explore their darker sides so that they more fully appreciate the light. Perhaps it is The Lord's purpose for putting these shadowy people upon this blessed earth--the eccentrics, the entertainers, the Jews--so that men of God may shortly indulge in these hedonistic fancies, then have the fulfilling choice of leading a life in the light instead. After all, what else is the purpose of confession than allowance for forgiveness for a moment of indulgence?  
I shall enjoy his company then instead of fight against it, but I must keep wary to prevent myself from becoming addicted.  
But I fear for another's soul as well...  
Sutcliff seems to have made a habit now of invasion of others' privacy. First mine, and now Thomas's, as he breaks into the other's home almost daily only to gain a glimpse of the next written page. I admit shamefully that I accompany Sutcliff in these endeavors, though mainly to assure that no damage is done to the home while we are there.  
But today there was a curious passage in Thomas's manuscript...  
The man has wonderful, florid descriptions, but what I found most odd was the rather romantic and eloquent descriptions of a ginger character in his story, a " _friend_ " of Will's. Perhaps he is not so significant as Will and his damsel, but the tantalizing, wanting, romantic descriptions of this crimson-haired, beauteous, alabaster man read almost as a love letter. Sutcliff sniggered at this discovery, but I am horrified--for can this poor man have become so addicted by just a taste? One meeting, and he seems _infatuated_!  
Alas! An author's heart is softer than an angel's wing, and as delicate as the clouds on which they reside. I should know that well myself--but I am not an author anymore. My days in military service assured that.  
I had worried for a moment of what I could do for my most pleasant acquaintance, but perhaps there is nothing to do. The lovely devil is dead, and more inaccessible to the living than the star-crossed lovers of Shakespeare were. Let him indulge then, if not in physical pleasures, then in the eccentricities and perversions of the mind, so that his dear heart may only have little to confess when the time comes. I can only hope for his sake that they remain of just the mind...  
 _O Lord, forgive my transgressions of physical pleasure as well, for they were what got me in this state of existence in the first place._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruh I wrote this on a plane. I wrote this in the SKY. Ha I'm a bit jet lagged and loopy atm forgive me if none of this makes any damn sense.  
> I'm home now though!  
> But I find it funny how Christian fundamentalist he can get at times and yet I headcanon his adult reaper self to be agnostic as fuck.


	19. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there's a confession and...something else....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna be straight with you. I didn't want to abandon this fic. It was never my intention, especially to part with it for so long. But depression happened, so much of it, and quite honestly I wasn't sure if I'd be around here to even finish it. I had intended on putting it off for the rest of time until a curious tumblr user asked one of my accounts about it, and God I cried! Someone gave a fuck about my shitty writing here?!  
> I made an aesthetic moodboard thing of it for fun, linking my fic just cuz but didn't think anyone would look or care to look--but then I got so much positivity!  
> So I put this out here for you guys. As a thanks, and as hope to get back into the swing of writing things again--you have no idea how much I needed to write again!  
> So here ya go, some long-awaited for...well I won't spoil! <3

Diary,

He has fallen certainly, but not for whom I imagined...

We sat once again before each other, stroking our thumbs upon our cups of tea as the moon lifted gently upon the black satin sky. There was a heaviness to the air today, one that clung to one's skin and clothes and hair, sat upon one's shoulders like sleeping angels. But there was frost as well, and bitterness that made one's breath sharp and thick, and the steam from the tea thicker by weary candlelight.

My companion was weary as well tonight, looking distractedly into his tea, his gaze as tumultuous as the sea, ever turning, ever folding...

There was conversation, but it always drifted away, like an unmoored ship, and Thomas had cut the moorings as he sighed against the glassy air, whilst the moon rose on further.

After a long silence, he spoke my name softly...

Of course I answered as such to my dear friend, hoping not to startle him so, as I leaned in to examine him, expressing worry, for the poor man seemed to be so overworked these days! His fingernails were grimy and black, so contrasted against his white hands, and the violet shades beneath his bluest eyes. It tormented me to see a beautiful man so exhausted.

But then he made the queerest remark to me...

_"William, I am a confirmed bachelor."_

I thought I was mistaken at first upon hearing him, and asking him to repeat himself, and the man seemed on the verge of tears! Until he poured his soul to me, as if from a steaming kettle, of how he couldn't love Annemarie, couldn't love any woman, for he couldn't love a woman for the life of him!

There are moments when you are unable to think quite clearly, quite quickly, thoughts sticking in mud instead, or perhaps passing through some thick molasses, for I sat there, struck dumb, and blinked at him whilst his own lashes became thick and heavy with tears, until he grasped my hand from across the table, and pressed his face against my knuckles, whispering to some God on High to forgive him, and still I could not bring myself to react, and only to wonder, to think of such a lovely young thing, tormented by The Devil...

With an animalistic cry, he threw my hand aside, shrieking that I had quit listening because I hated him now, hated the wretch, and to be quite honest I was not sure what I felt in the moment-- oh _God_ what do I feel now? As I pen now my hands quake...

For then he left in great haste, striking the table with his knee, until he fell, and his cup beside him, and of course I rushed to my dear friend's aid! Lord in Heaven, surely this is not my sin!

But when I touched him then, there was something strange that had come alight in me...something as I looked that man in the eyes fully for perhaps the first time that night.

 _"It is I that you care for?"_ I asked him then, and he answered with a sheepish nod, turning pale until a flush startled his complexion. But I did not part from him then, oh _Lord in Heaven_ why hadn't I parted from him then?

I touched him...

And I touched him again...

And _O Lord_ , his lips tasted as sweet as the apple that had condemned poor Eve. He was... _soft..._

And he touched me, and I let him, and oh Heaven I wonder even now why I can't manage to regret it. We became entwined until the break of day, when the hour of bluebell sky came about, and I untangled my limbs from his and fled, and oh Heaven how I ran as orange flame slowly lapped at the bluebell skies! And how the fire burned in mine eyes!

But I cannot regret, I cannot regret O Lord! For why must you make such things sinful, such things that pleasure the mind and body, the sense and soul so well? You allow me to capture the scent of lilies--but not the scent of _him?_ You've made him and lilies just the same, and yet there is only one I can touch so well? For he and lilies are one in the same against the fingertips and against the lips, yet Lord you make _him_ a sin?

Or perhaps I have...

I made him dirty with sin just as I had been dirtied in my life.

_And for that, Lord punish me, but please, not him!_

But as I speak of Hell, Hell _himself_ glares up at me with those glistering emerald eyes and a smile like a slash...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tl;dr they fucked. in the ass. ya. probably gonna post a non-diary smut of the events written about here because William isn't the type to get too graphic but I WANT IIIIIIT!  
> And I bet the majority of you want it too so I gotchu fam ;) TIME TO SIN


	20. Confession: POV Switch--NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previous chapter's events but like more explicit for you perverts out there--because what else is ao3 about?   
> Well...explicit as I can stand to be lmao   
> Didn't wanna make it a separate post tbh so feel free to skip this chapter if you just want the story to go on...
> 
> Dedicated to MicrowaveSlayer--check his fics out!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ehhh it's shit tbh, still trying to get back into writing this fic again after being so depressed and out of the game for so long...
> 
> disclaimers at the end so please hold any complaints and problematic comments till then

The two young man sat, fresh tea steaming between them, with long, painful gaps in their usually thriving conversation. But tonight it was distractibility that had slain again and again any attempts at a connected thread to be created.

Curiously, it was the writer who so vehemently chopped the thread with tired sighs and tired looks into his cup of tea, his vibrant blue gaze upon the crisp copper shade as white, callused fingers toyed with his blond locks.

It wasn't so much minded at first, for the writer boy wasn't so terrible for silent glances. He was not a handsome fellow, no...though perhaps some could inaccurately ascribe the descriptor to him. No, he was lovely, beautiful, a spring nymph amongst the grotesque horde that took up residence in this boarding house, who took the same shade as lilies, lips and nose flushing pink as lilies did every so often at the center of the blooms, whilst his hair mimicked rays of sun, his eyes seemed to be fallen shards of sky. He was a beautiful man, with the demure tendencies of a blooming blossom, only unfurling when one didn't see...

"Is there something the matter?" the darker haired one attempted.

_"Hm?"_

Silence...

Spears gazed at the moon every so often, as if beckoning Her spirit for help, to inspire something between them to discuss as the minutes crept apace. But after a while, Spears decided that perhaps dearest Wallis was exhausted tonight, as was evident by the tinge of violet beneath his bluest eyes.

"Perhaps I shall take my leave now, Thomas. You look as if you need some rest."

_"William."_

_"Yes?"_

He was growing irritated now, for _suddenly_ the man wished to _talk?_ But he sat down promptly-- _waiting..._

"What?" he spoke tightly, glaring at his friend now from across the wavering steam.

But Wallis's eyes widened then, before he seemed to shrink back, stroking the handle of his cup obsessively with his thumb as his head sank down, " _I...I..._ " he stammered, his voice hollow and airy like the gentle night wind outside, growing progressively more quiet...

_"Get on with it, Thom--"_

_"William, I'm a confirmed bachelor."_

 

There were moments that crept along, as if swimming through molasses, and others that sped through as if being thrown upon the wind. And still there were moments that froze and still flew by, as if shooting a bullet through a brick wall, hearing the ear-shattering blast, feeling the impact as if through one's chest, and watching the shell crush and crumple as it lodged itself so firmly in. The latter of these moments was what occurred as the blond's eyes shut tightly, pushing tears through light lashes, and Spears's own gaze widened in shock as he froze with his hands folded neatly upon the table, knuckles now threatening to break against each other. 

"Come..come _again?"_

 _"Confirmed_ , William..."

After some moments, Wallis dared to lift his lids, smiling timidly at the other man, though it soon fell away as he caught the other man's expression, and regret soon sank in--but how often he had rehearsed, writ down what he was to say to the man! And so he swiftly took the other's hand in his, thumb stroking over Spears's knuckles as he detailed his life to him then, a quick confession to--to whom? To darling William Spears? To _The Lord_ above them? But his tongue ran quickly, speaking of so many years of anguish, all suddenly unburdened, unchained, rising in a frenzied rush like steam from a screaming kettle. He spoke of Annemarie, dear _Annemarie_ , and so many others like her who had tried to ask for his hand--and then he spoke of love, so soft upon his heart like an angel's wing beating upon his breast, like a forgiving kiss blown from Zephyr upon the tender grass once the winter had passed, but from what source did this feeling spring forth from?

It was then that Wallis fell silent along with Spears.

And he watched the other man from across the table intently, hand in hand, trying to read, to discern _something_ from him, though panic slowly set in, as he shook his head slowly, quicker, quicker until he threw the other man's hand aside with a sob, wishing to flee out the window perhaps at last, but instead he attempted to run off somehow, when with a cry his leg struck the table, and he fell with his half-full cup shattering beside him.

It was then that Spears seemed to awaken, hearing the cry and kneeling down to aid his friend, his dear, poor, _sick_ friend. The light-haired one sat upon the floor in a defeated heap then, wincing at first, but soon succumbing to the other's assistance, openly weeping now.

"Thomas..." Spears attempted as he sat beside his companion then, "Who is it that you care for?" 

And once again, _silence..._

_Frustrated silence!_

_"Is it I that you care for?!"_

The blond paled in complexion then, becoming white as snow as he looked away to the floor, blackened fingernails fingering the boards as a rosy hue took to him, and he nodded as he shook, another sob racking through him, dragging out a soft gasp as a hand took to his face to shield himself.

"Thomas..." Spears attempted once again to call out to the boy, but he was too far away, already crumpling into himself with pathetic whimpers. The white lily was wilting quickly, weeping into his hands.

Spears himself felt heaviness weigh down upon his heart as he looked to his friend, unsure now where he was to go. Of course he felt the same, in inklings, in private moments in the inner folds of his mind, when he walked back through the romantic night, his only companion the opalescent moon, with whom he safeguarded his most secret desires, whispering against the fragrance of the black night. 

But then he recalled in the night the strike his father made upon his face, marring it red with a welt when Spears last dared to admit his most secret desires...

But father wasn't here, and the moment had arisen at last when his affections were so tenderly returned, when he no longer gave a wit of whether or not The Lord was watching, for surely Hell could not be far worse than his purgatory here.

Forced to slay, for he had slain _himself..._

 _"Thomas,"_ he sighed before he swiped his friend's hand away, pushing in to seize those pink lips, to engulf the shocked gaps his friend gave. And how perfectly _warm_ it felt against the oncoming winter's chill, how delightful after so long! Spears kissed him again, _again_ whilst Wallis scrabbled onto his shirt--afraid an exhilarated all at once, for surely this was a _fever dream!_

But desires became rougher soon as they embraced, lips and hands joined in a holy pilgrim's kiss that stung with the bitter taste of tears. But soon Spears parted, timidity pulling him back as he flushed and stood, murmuring something about it growing far too late, and Wallis agreed readily with his eyes upon the floor and a nervous grin about his lips. The brunet helped the other to stand as he glanced at the door, but he could not quite pull himself away...

It was Wallis who kissed him then, albeit timidly, awkwardly at first with his lips pressed firmly shut and his eyes squeezed tight. But Spears replied, grasping the other man's lips between his, if only for a proper goodnight, a proper goodbye...But they could hardly part ways, muttering _goodbye's_ and _adieu's,_ but with midnight's delirium could hardly manage to part without a soft giggle and a sigh, until they came again to grasping the other's form in gradually mounting desperation, when in a sudden rush, Spears pushed the other man down upon the bed, Wallis replying by clinging to the man as the other man's lips attempted to ingrain in his memory the curvature of Wallis's neck, and how he _shook!_  With nervous energy, anxious laughter gave way to longer sighs from the young man that mounted to moans that wracked his little shape, enlivening within him senses he hardly ever knew!

But before Spears could consume the young mortal whole, Wallis cried out, panting and white, positively trembling beneath Spears, his waistcoat feeling too tight for his breathing. Spears pulled off of him, suddenly awake, aware of the young man beneath him, staring up at him with that wide, blue gaze, hair splayed out in golden waves like a halo about his head.

"Are you alright, Thomas?" the brunet asked gently of the other man.

"I..I _don't..._ "

Spears pulled off of the shuddering man, leaning on his side beside the other, allowing him a moment to breathe, before he too dared a glance at Spears, smiling with anxiety as he huffed out his nerves.

"I-I apologise, William, I really..."

"It's quite alright--"

"I've never had _anyone_ , to be honest..."

_"Anyone?"_

He shook his head softly, flushing again as he sat up and seemed to curl into himself again, his thumb stroking his lower lip in curiosity, feeling it tingle...

"It felt nice..." 

"It did," Spears sat up as well.

" _Do it again..._ " his voice was thick.

The brunet's brows raised momentarily, though he did not argue, slowly leaning in, though vowing to be gentler now with the young man, as he came in slowly to embrace those pink lips, pressing them between his slowly, carefully now. He could feel the other's heart race against them though, or perhaps it was his own that he felt the tremors of. The other was frightened, yes--but exhilarated all the same as he grasped to Spears who was now leaned over him, toying easily with those locks of golden sun. Soon fingers explored, however more gradually this time, more curious and willing, unbuttoning, unfastening, fondling, curious of the shape, the concaves of the other, where dips and valleys resided, until passion became ravenous once more, scrambling to feel the other man's skin, his warmth, until Spears was bent over Wallis, tongue circling the peaks upon the young writer's rapidly beating chest, fingertips dipped in candle-wax engorged, slipped neatly away into the young man, easily slipping in and in again with those delightful fingers, as if running up and down a cello's horse-haired bow, as he gradually opened him further whilst the mortal whimpered softly against the heavy air. But how he wished to kiss and kiss again this young man, spoiling him then by ravishing his ankle, up along his calf and thigh, but so carefully he indulged himself upon the virgin, barring himself from consuming the young man whole.

 _"Please don't stop..."_  young Wallis's voice was a sensuous wisp, seeming to unfurl rather quickly now, unravel perhaps as stars shone in those sky-blue eyes.  

Spears hardly could now, unbuttoning his own trousers as Wallis's curious head rose to glance at the other, quickly coming back down once he caught sigh of the other bare, lips pressed flush and white as he tried his best to compress a scream, tried his best to process, to decipher what he had seen and quell his beating heart as Spears's groans burned his ears.

"It's going to feel rather strange..." the brunet warned as he approached, pushing back the cloth of the other man's shirt as he sat between Wallis's thighs. He bent over to gaze upon that winsome lad, brushing through golden hair once more before a quick kiss was given whilst he slowly slipped in...

They froze a moment when a cry was echoed into the dark, when tears welled up in the young man's eyes as he flushed a furious shade of rose, his breath caught in his chest, stopped in his throat, as he tried to handle, the tingle, the pull, the awful shaking as he felt so suddenly stretched wide, jolted awake, as his heart came a-flutter.

It was slowly, gingerly that Spears sank in whole, feeling the damp, clinging heat surround him, too frightened to move out of fear of tearing the young man apart. But soon there was a gentle movement of hips, however soft and slow, so careful and still so impactful with the other man's soft cries, until bliss racked his body and hoarsed his voice, crying out to Lord in Heaven until the brunet soaked through the man, feeling candle wax drip as he pulled out from the other, kissing him feverishly still upon this darkest night, the moonlight now providing ghostly ivory silhouettes as the candle at last burnt itself out.

They slept entwined still as night passed to twilight, when Spears rose, pulling himself from steadfast, sticky sheets that clung to him, disentangling himself from the author's limbs, as he saw the sky outside like bluebells, and felt a tremor in his heart that gave into panic--

Wallis woke alone, sore and yet somehow refreshed, feeling as if he were still half in a lovely dream until he realized his bed was empty and the air outside was cold...

Had he dreamt it all then? The entire luminous night through?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> confirmed bachelor = slang for gay lol
> 
> about the candle wax lube-- look, I know, I know it's shitty, but look, I did my fucking research. Lube wasn't a thing in the 18th century, and I won't pretend it is, but gays still had butt sex anyway, so how did they do it? Various sources spoke of Greeks using olive oil which is...intriguing? Appetizing? Revolting? Not really sure... but this is England, where their only seasoning is vinegar (no offense to my UK readers). Other sources remarked upon animal fats, and if anyone's ever seen a real, straight up animal fat candle, that wax is pretty damn....well you know... so it could be plausible I guess, if one were to live in an era where actual synthetic/water based lubes weren't available...  
> I tried.  
> I'm sorry.
> 
> was gonna post another story-continuing chapter, but it's 3 am and I got work tomorrow... so peace out, dudes! hope I can continue the plot soon.


	21. For Shame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aftermath of the night before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grell knows wassup

Diary,

His knowing glance still perturbs me...

Sutcliff didn't ask a thing of me, spoke not even a word, but his slash of a smile spoke well enough for him as he languidly stretched himself up and awake, gave a yawn for a good morning, but  didn't bother to speak not a coherent word until the sun fully rose.

The day went much like this as well.

There were hardly any words exchanged between us throughout the day, and instead Sutcliff seemed to be caught in some sort of trance, pleasant and yet...

Blast, I can't think of a way to describe it. But there was _nothing_  to gain from him for the entirety of the day. Simply little mutters of the chill, little mutters of the food, little mutters and mumbles and groans and grumps but nothing, nothing but that incessant, knowing glance at me when he paused to speak.

Not even when we watched over Thomas at work today...

_Thomas._

A pit of guilt weighs heavy in my stomach when I look upon him. I introduced him to such licentious pleasures, and in return satisfied myself within him as I took his purity from him--and it is I who will drag him to _Hell_ below.

And still, I cannot help but think of how soft he was, nor how soft the air was upon that romantic midnight. It clouded my mind throughout the day, well into the eve, and now as I pen, that limpid gaze upon me as his lily-white skin flushed rose...even I flush recalling it. But I mustn't recall it, never again, even when watching over the man.

He was rather melancholy today-- _bewildered_ , it seemed by the brush of a breeze through his golden hair. I cannot help but feel agony knowing that it was my absence in his bed that had caused this, but I mustn't return again to my dear friend, for fear, for _shame..._

When Sutcliff and I left tonight to retire, however, he requested something rather queer of me. 

He requested I inform him next time when I plan on spending the _whole night_ away.

I would have easily discounted this as his usual trying banter, but it was the manner in which he spoke; quickly, quietly, hardly affording me a side-glance as he moved on ahead of me with a lock of his jaw.

But he spoke not another word to me for the rest of the night.

_O Lord, what has bewitched the whole of London?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jelly?


	22. Steam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more contemplation as Will doesn't feel quite present...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoping to be more regular with this once my summer classes end. wish me luck on my exam!

Diary,

I visited him again tonight. 

I had informed Sutcliff I'd be out again, likely for much of the night, and was answered by a roll of the other man's eyes and a reminder of safe reaping practices, but I was acknowledged all the same.

But who is Sutcliff to remind me of safe reaping practices? Sutcliff, who nearly decapitated me on our first day here, who maimed himself severely but a few days afterwards.

He still hardly speaks to me, barely did for the entirety of the day. Instead there were furtive glances, little pouts of his pink lips as he _considered_ something for a long while...

But I forced myself to forget _Sutcliff_ for a while as I visited Thomas again. He greeted me with the warmest of smiles tonight, looking much like a night jessamine in full bloom as he took my hands and led me inside. He burbled and bubbled on and on about work, about worrying and woes, about the permanent ink-stains on his crisp fingernails, about wondering where I had gone.

Where _had_ I gone? _Isn't that the question..._

Then he kissed me, so sweetly, as if a fae had done so instead, and I couldn't help but lament in agony in my soul, for what did sin mean now that we had committed one of the most ultimate acts-- _and I still do not regret it!_

But I felt strange, felt my soul suspended above our two bodies all the while, rising with the steam from our cups of tea, his lips feeling plush but numb against mine, until Thomas asked me what was the matter. And I myself wonder what is the matter...

He kissed me again, and I kissed him back, and it was nice for a while, holding him against the growing winter's chill, shuttering the windows to leave the wind and even The Lord above out to indulge in little fancies and pleasures, such as grasping his little hand in mine, suckling upon his pale neck--

But he stopped me, informed me that there was worry in my fingertips, that I was elsewhere, and perhaps I was, for even now I can only recall half of my soul in being there, and the other half gone up with the steam.

I left him once he drifted to sleep, about a quarter past three, though I don't recall my feet touching the ground, only how thin the moon had gotten, to a crisp sliver of white by the wavering flicker of the candlelit street lamps.

And by Heaven, I don't recall much else until I greeted Sutcliff that night, who stank of someone else's cologne as he sang some ungodly amalgamation of several sea shanties, creating something uniquely his own. He had taken up residence in my bed, but I hardly had the energy to care by the time I managed to strip off and lay down. He kissed be sloppily on the cheek and bade me goodnight.

As I pen, he still breathes softly upon my bed whilst I sit by the blueing sky of the misty morn.

_O Lord, what has bewitched me?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I relate to this...don't we all?


	23. Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is beginning to make up his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoy! wish me luck on my exam tomorrow...

Diary,

As the chill picks up, Sutcliff has taken to sneezing like a frightened mouse at all hours of the day, followed by long moans as a result of his migraine. I've lent him my scarf, though that hardly seems to sate him.

I still think about what Thomas had said to me last night, that I wasn't _there_ with him in his bed. And perhaps it was because I wasn't, or I shouldn't have been...

Perhaps Sutcliff was right, and that I did go further than appropriate reaping practices could ever allow. For I can't even think about Thomas without bringing to the front of my mind that his continued existence depends solely on me--and I mustn't become _biased_. My duty is, after all, to simply re-check these souls marked for death, to assure that we haven't made a grievous _error_... and while the fact is regrettable, at this point I feel there is no evidence available strong enough to bar Thomas Wallis from his end. 

But I shall wait. We have a few days left, after all...

Strangely enough, Sutcliff seems to think differently from me, especially on the occasions much like today, where he broke into the young man's boarding room whilst he was away to read the next few pages, humming and cooing in approval at the prose, reading a few verses aloud with a tittering satisfaction, though I must admit, the man's reading voice is rather eloquent, like streaming like the sweet smoke from a hardy, briar wood pipe, sweet and high, but flowing and rich with a husky undertone. Truly it elevates the work, and Thomas has true promise in his craft, but I'm afraid _talent_ isn't enough...

I try not to think too hard upon it, instead to focus on the lovely turn of phrase he has as he creates worlds apart from our own upon his tongue in sleepy sighs, wide, blue eyes swimming with careful thought as the world slowly emerges within them, fertile land and deep ocean both. I try not to think too hard upon it when he stroked his callused, ink-stained thumb down my cheek, smiled at me with his pink lips and sighed in lovely pity for how tragically beautiful Death seemed to be if I was the embodiment of it.

But he never asked for my decision...

Curious, isn't it? I would have insisted if I had managed to meet Death to have a chat over a cup of tea. But he speaks thrillingly of the mundane, of the shade of the sunrise, of how the chill frosts his breath, making it sharp in his throat in lungs, but then he speaks of Death and his gaze becomes downcast, onto his pink and grey hands.

I left him early tonight, quite irritated by the other's silence. But as I pen here and now in my bed, the red nuisance isn't here, and I am rather puzzled...

_O Lord, what mischief has he gotten into now?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> where is Grell?

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter to come when I feel like it.


End file.
